A Taste of London
by Forbiddensoul562
Summary: After being kicked out of his home, Francis needs to take some time from his philandering ways and finds himself at the 'Taste of London' hotel, run by Arthur Kirkland. This could be what it takes to show Francis everything he didn't know he needed. FACE
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I knew there was a reason I watched HGTV! You see, it pays off to expand your horizons and watch TV channels you normally wouldn't! I say this because Hgtv, and more specifically, House Hunters International, was the place where I came up with the idea of this. I watched the very beginning, heard what was happening and instantly a flood of ideas came to mind! And from that, this was born! I am quite thrilled that the idea came to me as a Fruk, too! So please read and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters used in this story!

Title: A Taste of London

Chapter 1

Francis knew he shouldn't have gone home that night. Maybe he should've been tipped off to that fact by the seven missed calls he found on his phone after a rather eventful 'visit' with one of his many women friends. Or maybe he should've known from the sheer fact that… well… this scene repeated itself once a week. At least.

As he stepped just past the threshold of his Parisian apartment, Francis instantly found himself dodging a plate hurled at him from across the room. Francis cringed at the sound of his precious plate smashing against the wall. Yes, he told himself, if he had just stayed out for the rest of the night maybe then what was left of his precious dinner plates might be spared.

But it was already too late to rethink his decision.

The enemy had spotted him, and had their scope was locked on him. The first metaphorical shot had been fired in the form of his innocent dinnerware. The battle was on, and he knew he was going to lose. Just like every other night…

"Salaud!" Came the shout from Francis's enemy; a blonde haired green-eyed young girl the Frenchman knew as his girlfriend, though was properly referred to as Renée. "How could you do this to _me_!" She yelled quickly in French. Her words were always so heavily accented to Francis's ears and could only think of how this woman had come to Paris from the country in the south of France. He'd at one time told her the sound of it was cute –just another tactic in his long list of ways to win a girl into his bed for the night. But all things considered, he really hated every syllable of it.

He sighed. He was tired from his previous escapades and all he wanted to do was sit down for a nice glass of fine red wine and then retire to bed for the remainder of the night. But it was obvious that ideal was simply not going to happen. He didn't feel like trying to appease his girlfriend either, though. What was a poor Frenchman with too many woman and not enough lies to go around supposed to do?

Well… evaluate the situation first, of course. "What do you mean, mon amour?" He asked, trying to put on that romantic tone he used to seduce women into whatever he wanted. However, even he could hear how half-spirited it was. "What exactly have I done to wrong you?"

It was obvious that sweet words were not going to extinguish this fire tonight. Renée was too far drowned in her own anger to fall for his attempts to quiet her. Instead, she hurled another plate in his direction. "You are disgusting! You pig!" She shouted. "Your little whores called here looking for you! All six of them! You've been cheating on me again, Francis! You told me that this time you were going to remain faithful to me!"

"It was only one time, mon amour." He told her, letting his eyes close for a mere moment from sheer fatigue, before then remembering the danger he was still in at being hit with his precious porcelain.

"One time? Francis six women called! If you only cheated one time, that means you cheated on me with six other women! You are completely disgusting, Francis! Can you not think of anything other than yourself and how you're going to get sex the next time for one day?"

This just wasn't worth it, Francis thought to himself as he watched the woman continue to rant at him in the form of screams. Her words didn't even make it to his ears. He was too busy telling himself that this was just one more uphill battle for an end goal he wasn't even sure he wanted. What did it matter if he pleased this woman? She was living in _his_ home, wearing clothes _he _had bought for her. And hurling _his_ dishes at him; the same ones she had eaten off of!

This just wasn't worth it. This needed to come to an end. But what was he to do, throw the poor girl out onto the streets because _he_ had failed to keep his promise to her? Francis might've been a dog, just as she was telling him, but he was no so low as to do that to an innocent woman.

That left one option, and he was more than willing to take it.

Straightening himself up, he looked straight at Renée, into those green orbs that were so filled with anger towards him. "You are completely right," This made her pause and backtrack a moment in surprise; he took this opportunity of quiet to continue, "I have wrong you, because of that, I cannot look at you anymore, I am too consumed in guilt. Please… allow me to leave. To go away for a while to punish myself for what I have done."

Renée remained silent, her piercing gaze burning straight through him in an attempt to find any scrap of truth that may lie in his lies. Finally, Francis watched as she relaxed –her entire body seemed to come down from the rigid level it had just been at. That was a good sign in itself. "Fine." She told him. "Get your stuff and go! And do not you come back here until I tell you you're allowed!"

Francis smiled, brushing back a strand of blonde hair and dismissing the thought that this was his home, and if he wanted to come back, he would do so at any time. There was no use dwelling on that fact, he told himself considering that Renée was giving him exactly what he wanted –the opportunity to leave and be as far away from the French woman as possible.

He nodded, "Please be swift in bringing me back to you, mon amore." He couldn't help letting a bit of that romantic in him show through. It was written into every fiber of him to try and win over whatever woman was around him, and Renée was no exception to this.

She glared at him as he stepped further into the apartment, heading of course to his room to grab a bag and fill it with the necessary items he would need for his travels. "Just get out you pig!" She yelled back at him.

'_Gladly, my dear.'_ Francis thought to himself with a light smile of happiness on his face as he entered into his room and closed the door behind him –effectively separating him from the angry woman on the other side.

'_Well,'_ He added, going to the closet to grab an empty bag, _'this night seems to have gone a lot better than I thought it would.'_

"Where are you going, buddy?" The French taxi driver asked, looking back as Francis climbed into the stopped taxi. He was glad once again -as he usually found himself- that he lived in the grand city of Paris, where the taxi service ran twenty-four hours a day every day, when the subway service stopped running at midnight.

It was early in the morning now, just a little past four, and all Francis wanted to do was sleep after a long, eventful night. He exhaled, resting his head back on the seat. "It doesn't matter." He said, "Please just drive."

The taxi didn't move, "I need a destination, sir, or I can't take you anywhere at all." The driver explained with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Fine, fine, oui, alright." Francis ran a hand through his hair. "Take me out of the city. To a hotel somewhere in the country; somewhere with pleasant views and perhaps kind of spread out so the place is very quiet. Somewhere opposite of Paris." It wasn't a very detailed explanation of where he wanted to go, but it was his ideal; somewhere quiet and peaceful where he might be able to rest for a night or two.

The taxi driver nodded and turned forward, looking out the windshield as he pulled the vehicle out into the light traffic, "Yes sir, I have an idea of what you want now." And with that everything went quiet in the car except the sound of the engine, and the faint sound of the radio in the front playing some old French tunes.

Francis took a deep breath, as blue eyes watching the city pass by him. He was free, that much he knew. Free to get away from the drama that Paris held for him here; from all the women he slept with, and manipulated into falling in love with him. For just a couple days, he'd be able to start all over with a clean slate.

The thought was pleasant, and soon he found himself letting his eyes close, succumbing to the enticing pulls that sleep was having over him.

"Sir? … Sir?" Came a voice through the darkness. Who could it be? Wasn't he alone in his bed? So who could be in his home? "Sir!" The feeling of someone shaking his shoulder brought him to open his eyes, seeing the taxi driver from the previous night shaking him. In an instant, all the memories from the previous night came swirling back to the forefront of his mind.

"Sir, I think I found exactly the type of place you were looking for." The driver said, his pudgy face pulling up into a satisfied grin.

"Oh?" Francis asked, holding back a yawn as he opened the taxi door and stepped outside into the cool morning air. It had to be about six or seven in the morning, as the sun had just come up and a good part of the sky was still a dark blue shade.

The taxi was parked in front of a large, three story white brick home. There was lush green vines that were growing up one of the sides, and were just starting to grow flowers on them, giving the home a nice aged look to it. On all the windows there were blue shutters framing the paned glass, and flower boxes with beautiful pink plants growing out, under each window giving the outside of the house a nice contrasting color against the white. The home sat up on a hill, which France could see overlooked a large grape vineyard.

Francis exhaled with a sigh. Yes, this was exactly what he had been looking for. He turned back to the taxi and reached in, grabbing his bag. "Merci, sir." He said, grabbing his wallet and handing him some money. "This is perfect."

The driver nodded, reaching into his own pocket and taking out a white card. "Here you go, sir, this is my card. Just call when you want me to come get you! I doubt any of the other drivers would know where this place is."

Francis nodded, looking over the simple card with the driver's name, the company name and a couple phone numbers on it. "I will do that. Thank you again."

The driver nodded, "Have a nice stay!" He called before turning on his taxi again and pulling out of the gravel driveway. And with that, this was it… he was alone, and had his clean slate to now dictate exactly what was going to happen. He breathed in a quick breath, the cool, clean air feeling good in his lungs.

He walked up the rest of the way to the front entrance of the hotel, giving one more good look to the front façade of the building. Beside the rounded wooden door, there was an old-fashioned wood block hanging down from a chain on a wrought iron chain. 'A Taste of London,' it read.

'_A British hotel in the countryside of France? Well… this should be interesting.'_ Francis thought to himself as he took the metal handle of the door and opened it, entering into what already felt like something completely different from what he was so used to.

A/N: Well… there's the first chapter, let me know what you thought of it, please! There will be more chapters to come, but I'm not sure how many. I'm aiming for ten in the very least, but we'll see. As you can probably tell, this is going to be a very lighthearted story, for the most part. Well… not sure what else to say. I hope you'll keep reading, and leave a review to let me know what you thought of it! Thanks for reading.

Please review  
-Forbiddensoul562


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone who reviewed, faved, and put this story on their alert. The sheer amount of feedback I got was amazing, and I thank everyone for it. I hope that I'll continue to be able to make this story as good as you thought the first chapter was. Time will tell. But, in that time, please continue to read this and hopefully enjoy it! Thanks again, everyone! By the way, this chapter was a bit rushed so I could get it out to you tonight, so, I apologize for every grammatical error that's in it!

_Merry Christmas, and happy holidays to everyone!_

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, any of the characters, or the rights to the name of the hotel. (Yes, there really is a hotel named 'Taste of London', I know that because I've been to, and stayed at it.)

Chapter 2

The inside of the hotel, right from the look of the entry way was everything Francis thought when he thought of the British. The walls were a light cream color, light but not white enough to leave the place feeling like an institution of any sort. There was a check in desk to the left of the door, filled with all different kinds of papers. On the walls there were varying pictures in frames from that of what looked to be the English countryside to two little blonde boys.

Francis continued to look around the hotel. The place had the feel of someone's home more than that of any normal French hotel he was familiar with, and for a moment he wondered whether he had just accidentally stepped in on someone's home. No, he reasoned, that couldn't be it. The place must've just been designed to have that homey feeling. Francis liked it already.

"Hello?" He called out, taking a step over to the right, where an opening seemed to lead into a large sitting area. The far wall was lined with bookcases filled with books and photo frames, there was a number of chairs and couches for guests to sit on, and, as he stepped in, on the far left wall, he noticed a large bay window that looked out onto the vineyard just at the bottom of the hill, and allowed the warm morning light to filter in.

"Hello?" Francis called out once more, and suddenly there was a crashing sound from the opposite side of the house. He had just enough time to turn and enter back into the entrance way before he was met by another.

The man standing suddenly in front of him made Francis stop for a second, the shocking resemblance between him and Francis's girlfriend Renée was astounding –the two seemed to be exactly the same, minus their obvious genders. They both had the same piercing green eyes that seemed to be trying to stare straight, the same unruly blonde hair, and the same angry look that Renée always saved just for Francis.

And yet, there was still something very different between the two. What it was, Francis just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Who are you? Are you lost?" Came the man's voice in English, laced heavily with a British accent.

Francis couldn't help letting a grin pass at that. _'Well,'_ he thought to himself, _'at least the staff are genuinely British. That's a good sign.'_ He then went on to explain himself, "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, I'm sorry, monsieur, but I was under the impression that this was a hotel, and that it was open."

The other crossed his arms and gave the Frenchman a scowl. It was then that Francis noticed a splotch of white powder on the man's cheek –flour, he presumed. He took the moment to look the blonde British man over, taking notice to all the finer details, such as his clothes –a simple pair of brown dress pants, pressed nicely so they had no wrinkles in them, and a green sweater vest over a white long sleeved shirt.

'_Oui, very British indeed…'_

Francis was brought out of his own thoughts when the other cleared his throat, then continued. "Yes, well… you've got that right. This is a hotel." The British man scowled again, "But we're not open yet! Bloody hell, do you have any idea how early in the morning it is?"

Suddenly, there was a sound of shuffling from the top of the stairwell beside them; both men looked up, but were met with the sight of only the horizontal hallway.

Francis looked back to the other just in time to watch him sigh, defeated. "Alright, fine. You can stay… how long do you plan on staying for?" He asked, going over to the desk and shuffling through the papers there.

Just then, the sound of shuffling came from upstairs again, but this time, when Francis looked up the stairs, he was met with the sight of two little boys coming down the stairs. The one in front –with blonde hair and blue eyes- was running down as fast as he could without falling, while the other –with the same blonde hair, but with purple shaded eyes- came slower, almost as though he had been dragged.

"Dad!" The little blue eyed boy, who looked as though he couldn't be older than five or six, exclaimed, stopping on the bottom stair. "Do we have a guest?" He asked, a smile plastered on his face that could light up a room.

"Yes, Alfred, we do." The owned said, his tone quite monotone with the small child.

"Ah," Francis smiled, watching the second boy join his brother, Alfred, on the bottom step. "And who are these cute boys, Mr…?"

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland." Arthur explained, standing straight and now holding a single golden key in his hand. "Those are my two sons, Alfred and Matthew. They won't be any bother to you during your stay here, will you, _Alfred_?" Arthur shot the small boy a look.

Alfred hardly seemed to notice it as he jumped down off the bottom stair, and ran over to Francis's lone bag that sat by his feet. "Wow! This is awesome! I didn't think Dad would ever get any guests here!" He looked up at Francis, "I think he scares them all away. I don't even remember our last guest!"

Arthur shot Alfred a look that could kill as the little boy tugged on the leather bag's handle. "Mattie an- oh, that's my brother, he's… somewhere," Alfred started again, "anyway, we can take your stuff upstairs, mister!"

The other little blonde boy perked up from where he'd been standing so quietly on the stair at the mention of his name. "I'm right here, Alfred…" He said in a soft voice that made Francis smile at the sheer cuteness.

He bent down to Alfred's level. "My name's Francis, it's nice to meet you Alfred, you're a very kind boy, helping your Dad out here, huh?"

Alfred sucked in a breath and puffed out his chest proudly, "Nu uh! I'm a super hero! Super heroes always help out the innocent! Even if it's your Dad!" Francis smiled and patted the boy on the head, but said no more.

"Fine," Arthur said, "You and Matthew take his stuff up to room number three. Alfred, that means you _both_ carry it! Don't make your brother carry it all, okay?" The blue eyed boy simply nodded, dragging the bag over towards the stairs.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head, holding out the gold key to Francis, "Here's the key to your room." He said simply, before turning and heading back through the opening he'd come through.

Francis remained in the entry way for a moment, listening as the house went back to more or less the quiet state it had been in when he entered. The boys were dragging his bag up, or rather… Matthew was pushing it up the stairs while Alfred directed him from a few steps higher. He shook his head, and then finally decided to go follow after Arthur, and find out what the smashing sound from earlier was. Not to mention, there was a part of him that was intrigued by some quality in the Brit.

Following through the open archway led to a moderate sized formal dining area that seemed as though it was hardly used; it was followed by another opening, leading into a kitchen area, where Francis instantly noticed Arthur kneeling on the floor picking up pieces of a broken bowl and seemingly muttering incoherent swears every few moments.

With a small smile Francis went over, kneeling beside him to help, "Here, mon ami, allow me to help, oui?" He offered, gingerly picking out pieces and shards of a blue bowl from a mess of flour.

Arthur looked over, surprise evident in his green eyes. The look quickly died away and was replaced with a glare. The Frenchman wondered for a moment if it was even possible for the Brit to show any other emotion but anger and frustration for more than a moment's time. _'It must be just another British thing…'_ He thought to himself.

"Ah! What do you think you're doing? I didn't ask for your help!" Arthur complained, but didn't attempt to push Francis away.

"Well, I feel responsible for making you drop your bowl out of surprise." He smiled over at the Brit, then looked back at the mess before them. "What were you trying to do, anyway, monsieur?"

Arthur sent another glare over his way, "It's hardly past seven in the morning, what do you think I'm doing?" He asked, as though it should be completely obvious, but when Francis remained quiet, he huffed and continued speaking, his bright eyes moving down to the broken pieces held in his lap. "I was making breakfast for my children, obviously."

Arthur sighed, "Well… there goes one more thing, broken. I'm running out of old, memorable things in my home." Francis watched, with interest laced in his blue eyes, wondering what exactly he meant. There was obviously something more to his words, but Francis hardly felt it his place to ask anything about it. The Brit was already temperamental enough as it was, without the Frenchman provoking him more.

"_You_ were making them food?" Francis's look suddenly changed to confusion. "Excuse me asking, monsieur, but who else works here with you?"

This earned him another dirty look, "What do you mean who else works here? _I_ work here, and that's all that's needed to run this hotel. We don't get _a lot_ of business here, but for what we get, I can take care of it all. There's no need for me to hire anyone else when I and my two boys can take care of it all, thank you very much!" He huffed, standing up and throwing the pieces of the bowl away and grabbing a broom and pan. "Why are you questioning so much, frog?" He shot, "Why aren't you like every other guest that just drops their things off here and goes to explore the little town or the vineyard. _Must_ you get into my business?"

Francis was a bit taken aback by the Brit's standoff attitude all of a sudden; it was his defenses, obviously. But it was from what, that interested Francis. He'd merely asked a simple question. What about it had put the hotel owner on the defenses, to make him feel as though Francis was threatening him?

Without another word, he stood up with his own pieces in hand, and threw them away in a nearby trash bin by the opening into the kitchen. He gave one last look back into the room, where Arthur was silently sweeping up the flour and other ingredients into one pile, before heading out. He'd hate to push the Brit any further, and risk being thrown out of the hotel before he was even able to stay one night.

Quietly, the Frenchman made his way back through the halls of the hotel, to the entrance way, and then up the stairs to the second floor, where he was greeted by a hall of closed doors. Looking around, as he walked, he noticed the gold numbers on each door. _'Arthur said I'm in room three…'_

It wasn't hard to find his room, as it was the only one on the hallway with the sound of laughing children coming from it. He smiled as he opened the door to his room, being greeted with the sight of Alfred and Matthew playing with some toys on the floor –his leather bag placed pristinely on the queen sized bed on the perpendicular wall.

"Ah, merci boys, you did a wonderful job." Rummaging around in his pocket, he took out two gold coins –each one, a single euro. Smiling, he knelt down and handed one to each of them. "For your trouble." He told them.

Alfred smiled widely, taking both of them from Francis before his brother could take one. "Wow, thanks, mister! Wow, a whole two euros! I should show Mattie these!" He said, blue eyes sparkling as he looked from the coins up to Francis.

Matthew, hand still outstretched toward where the coins had been, sighed, "Alfred… I'm right here. One of them is mine…" He tried to say, though his soft voice hardly noticeable at all. He finally gave up his attempts and let his hands drop to his lap, his head falling a bit, as well.

The Frenchman watched them go back to playing with their toys for a moment, then wondered, "Why does no one else work here with your Dad, Alfred? Doesn't he need help dealing with the guests, and taking care of you two boys? Seems like a lot of work for one adult, non?"

Alfred stopped, and looked up, to Matthew who said parallel to him on the wood floor. Suddenly, he shot straight up and moved over in front of Matthew, his arms straight out, obviously in a protective way. His stare was hard on Francis, daring him to move any closer and even though the look was coming from a child, Francis could see the determination in his expression.

"You can't take Matt away from me!" Alfred said, loudly. "We are fine here by ourselves! We don't need anyone else! So don't take my brother away, okay? I'll go instead, okay?"

Francis was completely taken aback by Alfred's sudden change of mood. One second he's completely carefree, and doesn't even acknowledge his brother's presence, and the next he's standing over him protecting him from whatever evil he saw in the Frenchman. Behind him, Matthew was gripping Alfred's pajama pant leg, peeking out from behind with his large purple eyes, looking between Francis and his brother.

This was all very interesting to Francis. And as much as he wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on here, he had to put Alfred at ease, first. No telling what the child would do if he felt he, or his brother, were threatened anymore by Francis's questions. _'All three of them have obviously been either hurt by the world, or had something happen to shut themselves away here and see everything outside of their circle as a threat. What is it?'_

He exhaled, "Alfred, calm down, I'm not here to take anyone away. I'm simply a guest in your Dad's hotel spending a couple of days here. Calm down, d'accord?" He smiled, pushing back some of his blonde locks as he watched Alfred slowly calm down as well.

"Dad's only ever had one other worker here, but… we don't talk about that. It makes everyone sad…" He explained, going back to playing with the wooden soldiers that were spread out on the floor between the two boys.

"Oh?" Francis wondered, but didn't press anymore questions.

He instead stood up, and went over to one of the two windows in his room, on the parallel side to the door, that let wonderful natural morning light filter into the room and down onto the floor where the children were playing. He opened the window, allowing the cool air to hit him, fill his lungs, and swallow up the room.

Alfred's words reverberated around in his head, as he leaned on the windowsill, looking out over the valley at the bottom of the hill –the wonderful vineyard, and the town that lay just beyond it. _'…We don't talk about that. It makes everyone sad…'_ He'd said.

There were so many questions swirling around in his head, now, and he had no idea where to start. Or if it was even in his place _to_ start somewhere. After all, he was just another passing guest.

* * *

A/N: Not the best ending for a chapter, and not the best _chapter_ overall. I know it wasn't very eventful, but… it gets the job done. It sets up the scene and gives you a couple questions to mull around. So, what's going on with this family, hm? I guess you'll just have to stick around to find out more! By the way, I apologize for any and all grammatical errors in this (I'm sure there are hundreds…) my editor wasn't around today, and I really wanted to get this out tonight and give you all a nice Christmas present from yours truly! Hope you enjoyed! Please leave me some feedback, and I will try to have the next chapter out as soon as I can!

Please review  
_-Forbiddensoul562_


End file.
